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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347525">pound the alarm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae'>jessalae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>4+1 times, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), M/M, Magical Accidents, idiots to lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:27:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Four emergencies and one "emergency" that Quentin and Eliot figured out together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pound the alarm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accal1a/gifts">Accal1a</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>|1|</p>
<p>“El, I need your help.”</p>
<p>Quentin’s eyes are wide, his hair is halfway out of its little bun, and one whole side of his body seems to be wet with— coffee? “What <em>happened</em> to you?” Eliot asks.</p>
<p>Quentin grabs his wrist and heaves him up off the couch — impressive, honestly, since Eliot’s got eight inches of height on the guy — dragging him toward the stairs. “Easier if I show you,” he says.</p>
<p>Upstairs, in the middle of Quentin’s room, there’s a wide column of pink light that stretches from floor to ceiling. Inside the pink light, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — on the floor. There are lots of objects, including a pile of books, Q’s desk chair, an empty coffee mug, a scattering of pencils, and a stray sock, lying on the ceiling. The area rug next to Quentin’s bed is half in and half out of the column, and it hangs at an angle in the air, one end attempting to fall towards the ceiling, the other attempting to fall towards the floor.</p>
<p>“The spell— it reverses gravity, apparently. In like, a specific area.” Quentin tucks the loose half of his hair behind his ear. “I didn’t realize, uh. Exactly what it would do— I managed to throw myself out before I fell, but it was kind of close. And the book I was using <em>did</em> fall, and uh. I can’t reach it.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Eliot says slowly, surveying the damage. “Which one?”</p>
<p>“If you could maybe get, like. All of them? I need to see if they got wet, uh—” Quentin cringes a little. “Or, but, if that’s too hard—”</p>
<p>Eliot scoffs and raises his hand. The ceiling-books slide sideways out of the column of pink light, starting to fall as they leave the area of the spell. Eliot circles his wrist and the books slow, collect together, and settle on Quentin’s bed in a neat stack.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Quentin breathes, rushing for the bed and snatching the middle book out of the stack so the whole thing collapses. Eliot leans against his doorframe, watching Quentin's lips move soundlessly as he does math in his head.</p>
<p>It only takes Quentin a few minutes to figure out how to reverse the casting, but true to form he works his way through the spell immediately without thinking about what the consequences will be, and when the pink light disappears and all his stuff starts falling towards the ground he takes a startled step back, his mouth opening in horror.</p>
<p>Eliot catches it all with wordless telekinesis, swallowing his grunt of effort at grabbing onto multiple items of multiple weights without any tuts to focus it, but it’s worth it to see the horrified expression on Quentin’s face morph into awe and relief. “Anything else I can do for you?” Eliot asks wryly as he sets Quentin’s belongings safely down on the floor.</p>
<p>“<em>Thank</em> you,” Quentin says again, even more emphatically. He takes a step towards Eliot, his big brown puppy-dog eyes full of gratitude. “Seriously, sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you, El.”</p>
<p>“Always glad to be of service,” Eliot says, and heads back downstairs to resume his afternoon of ignoring his Horomancy homework in peace.</p>
<p>|2| </p>
<p>“Quentin.” Eliot’s hand lands on his shoulder, his fingers curl around Quentin’s wrist. “You’re not doing anything, right? Good.”</p>
<p>“Uh,” Quentin says, letting himself be steered around the corner and up the stairs to Eliot’s room. “No? What—”</p>
<p>“I will owe you several favors,” Eliot says. His voice is strangely tight, and his mouth keeps twitching. “You’re the best person for the job, you’re— responsible, and level-headed.” Eliot suddenly giggles, then snaps his mouth shut, and basically drags Quentin the rest of the way to his room, where he sits him firmly down on the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>“El, are you okay?” Now that Quentin’s not moving, he can see that Eliot’s hair is disheveled, his tie is loose, there are spots of color high in his cheeks. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“What’s going on,” Eliot starts, then giggles again. He slaps his hand over his mouth to stop it, then closes his eyes, takes a deep, shaking breath and blows it out through his nose. “What’s going on is that I agreed to test-drive some new edibles for Hoberman.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Quentin says, relieved and maybe a little disappointed all at once, because in his flurry of theories about why Eliot was dragging him up to his room and pushing him onto his bed, that hadn’t quite been the one he was hoping for. </p>
<p>“I agreed,” Eliot repeats, over-enunciating the words like he’s not sure he can get them out normally, which, maybe he can’t, “and then I wasn’t listening all that closely to his instructions—”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh— </em>oh, no—”</p>
<p>“—and instead of eating <em>one fourth</em> of a truffle—”</p>
<p>“Oh <em>no—</em>”</p>
<p>“—I may have eaten four.”</p>
<p>“Are you going to be okay?” Quentin asks, horrified. </p>
<p>“I am, it’s not anything I can OD on,” Eliot says. His fingers are twitching, his whole body kind of vibrating with tamped-down energy. “I’m just going to be very, very out of it for a while. A long while. I don’t know how long.” He giggles again, and it takes him a moment to get it under control this time, snorting through the hand covering his mouth.</p>
<p>“So you need a trip-sitter,” Quentin concludes, nodding, trying not to laugh himself at Eliot’s out-of-control humor. “Okay. Yeah, no, I’m not doing anything, I can. I’ll stay with you.”</p>
<p>“Thank <em>god</em>,” Eliot groans, and then throws himself onto the bed next to Quentin, face down, his long legs hanging off the edge. He giggles into his damask coverlet.</p>
<p>Quentin sighs and gently pats the small of Eliot’s back. “Why not Margo?” he asks.</p>
<p>“She told me not to,” Eliot says, muffled. “She’d yell. You won’t yell, you’re nice.” He turns his head and looks up at Quentin. His pupils are very very large. “You’re so nice.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Quentin sighs. “Okay. Come on, let’s get your shoes off before your fingers stop working.”</p>
<p>|3| </p>
<p>Eliot thinks he hears yelling as he lounges on the patio, blowing smoke rings up into the air, but he brushes it off. Probably just Alice and Margo having one of their lovers’ spats again. It’s sickening, really, how <em>emotional</em> they are over each other. <em>He’d</em> never be like that over a partner. His thing with Q is — it’s good, <em>very</em> good, but you don’t hear <em>them</em> screaming at each other all over the place.</p>
<p>Except: he hears the yelling again, and it sounds like— it sounds like Q’s voice. And it sounds like his name. And it’s getting louder— </p>
<p>“Eliot!” Quentin shouts again, bursting out onto the patio, looking wildly around. He spots Eliot and actually runs over. “Eliot! Fuck, I’ve been calling you—” He snatches Eliot’s cigarette out of his fingers, grinds it out under the heel of his boot. “—did you not <em>hear</em> me, I need—”</p>
<p>“Quentin,” Eliot starts loftily, but Quentin interrupts him. </p>
<p>“—I need you inside, it’s, come <em>on</em>—” Quentin grabs his arm and yanks, and Eliot stumbles to a standing position.</p>
<p>“What on <em>Earth</em>,” he starts, and then there’s a popping noise from the vicinity of Quentin’s free hand and Eliot looks down and sees him holding a guinea pig that definitely wasn’t there a second ago.</p>
<p>“Goddamn it,” Quentin whines, and shoves the guinea pig into Eliot’s hands. “Why won’t it <em>stop</em>?”</p>
<p>Eliot lets himself be dragged by the arm into the Cottage, through to the common room, which definitely did not have this many small, squeaking rodents in it when Eliot was in here half an hour ago. There are guinea pigs on the coffee table, guinea pigs all over the couch, several of the little bastards sitting on top of <em>his bar cart</em>—</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck</em>, Quentin,” Eliot says, rushing over to rescue his precious mixology supplies.</p>
<p>“I just wanted <em>one</em>,” Quentin wails, his hands fisted in his hair. “Just one, but I must have fucked up— <em>obviously</em> I fucked up, because, well.” He gestures wildly at the common room. There’s another popping noise and he has another guinea pig in his hands. “<em>Fuck,</em> they’re like fucking <em>tribbles</em>—”</p>
<p>“They’re like what now?” Eliot asks, baffled, then shakes his head. “No, not important. Let me see the spell you used.” <em>Pop!</em> Quentin sobs and puts his newest furry friend down on the floor. “<em>Quickly</em>, Quentin.”</p>
<p>Fortunately it’s just a small matter of one missing clause in the incantation, and the guinea pigs stop appearing as soon as Eliot finds Quentin’s mistake and they re-cast the spell together. The ones that have already appeared don’t disappear, though, so they spend the rest of the day figuring out how to find good homes for forty-three guinea pigs and Quentin is so overwhelmed that he falls asleep in Eliot’s bed without even having sex.</p>
<p>|4| </p>
<p>Quentin stares into the mirror, frowning at his shirt. Margo had insisted it would be perfect, but he’s having second thoughts — third thoughts — infinite thoughts, about how no, actually, it’s just, it’s actually really too much. Even for a fancy we’re-actually-dating-for-real-now romantic dinner, it’s really too much.</p>
<p>Then: “EVERYONE OUT,” a magically amplified voice booms, making the windows rattle in their frames. Quentin jumps and hurriedly pulls on the first pair of pants he spots on his floor and rushes into the hallway. “FIRE, THE KITCHEN IS ON FIRE, LEAVE THE COTTAGE RIGHT FUCKING NOW,” the voice continues, and— yeah, that’s definitely Eliot.</p>
<p>Quentin stumbles down the stairs with the couple other people who were up in their rooms, coughs when he hits the first floor and there’s smoke in the air. He makes it outside just fine, though, his eyes only stinging a little, and finds Eliot and Margo and the rest of the Physical Kids. Eliot has a little glowing blue ball of energy in his hand that he’s talking into, making his deep, mildly panicked voice a dozen times louder than he could actually yell. “FIRE, WE NEED EVERYONE OUT FRONT TO HELP PUT IT OUT— IS THAT EVERYONE?” He looks around wildly, his eyes landing on Quentin. “OH THANK GOD—” He snaps his fingers and the blue ball disappears as he rushes over, grabbing Quentin by the upper arms, looking him up and down. “You’re okay? You’re— what are you wearing?”</p>
<p>“Are <em>you</em> okay?” Quentin asks. Eliot’s dressed to the nines with a canvas and leather apron over the top of his outfit, and he doesn’t <em>look</em> burned or anything, so that’s good. “Should we—” He gestures over at where Margo is starting a cooperative spell, conjuring a ball of icy water that grows and grows as the rest of their classmates join in.</p>
<p>“Yes, right.” Eliot keeps his firm grip on Quentin’s shoulder as they step into the circle, squeezing tighter for a second before he moves his hands to pick up the pattern of the tuts. Finally, when the ball of water is nearly as tall as Margo, she yells, “Okay, go!” and Eliot and a couple other telekinetics gesture to break the kitchen window and push the water through. There’s a loud hiss and a huge billow of steam, and then silence.</p>
<p>Todd walks gingerly over and peers through the broken window. “It’s out,” he says. “We’re gonna need a new toaster.”</p>
<p>As the crowd starts to disperse, Margo walks over and goes up on her tiptoes to slap Eliot upside the head and then pull him down into a fierce hug. “Don’t fucking do that again, you dickbag,” she says, squished against his cheek. “The boy eats fucking microwaved ramen and already worships your dick. You don’t have to destroy the fucking house to get a crack at that nerd ass.”</p>
<p>“I won’t, Bambi,” Eliot says. “Thank you for stepping in to save the day.”</p>
<p>“Like I always do,” she sighs, then walks off to talk to Alice, who is coming up the path with an armful of books and a bewildered expression.</p>
<p>Eliot wraps his arms around Quentin, pulling him close. “I’m sorry, Q,” he says. “We may need to reschedule our romantic dinner.” </p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Quentin says, still a little dazed from, well, everything that just happened. He presses his face to Eliot’s chest. His apron smells like smoke and garlic and citrus. “You’re okay, right? As long as you’re okay, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m okay. I thought I had everything set up properly to flambé the snapper,” Eliot says ruefully. “It appears I, ah. Did not.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Quentin sighs, a little bit of the panic draining out of his body. “That’s, it’s fine. Like Margo said, I eat microwaved ramen, you really— you don’t actually have to go to all this effort for me.”</p>
<p>“I want to, though,” Eliot says, smoothing a hand over Quentin’s hair. “And speaking of effort, I’m going to return to my earlier question—” He holds Quentin at arm’s length and looks him up and down. “What <em>are</em> you wearing?”</p>
<p>Quentin groans. “It was Margo’s idea, she said the ruffles were like, <em>in</em>, or something, or— that you’d like it, anyway. I don’t know. I was gonna take it off and put on something normal but then, well. Fire.”</p>
<p>Eliot runs light fingers down the front of the ridiculous shirt. “I do like it, but it’s not particularly <em>you</em>, is it?” His hand traces all the way down and settles on Quentin’s hip, rubbing at the ratty sweatpants he grabbed off the floor in his rush to not evacuate while just in his boxers. “These are more you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but. I wanted to like, <em>try</em>.” Quentin shrugs and ducks his head, leaning in until he’s tucked against Eliot again. “You wanted to do something fancy, and I wanted to make you happy.” He feels himself blushing, darts his eyes around — there’s nobody left within earshot. “You know, because of the other thing Margo said.”</p>
<p>Eliot’s chuckle makes his chest vibrate against Quentin’s cheek. “You worship my dick?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Quentin says, blushing. “That.”</p>
<p>|+1| </p>
<p>“No, the rosemary one is way too wintery. We’re going with the pomegranate.”</p>
<p>“Who’s in charge of this signature cocktail, Bambi, you or me?”</p>
<p>“Who’s in charge of this <em>party</em>, <em>El</em>, you or me?”</p>
<p>“It’s a group effort, and—”</p>
<p>Eliot’s extremely good point about rosemary simple syrup being the perfect complement to the grilled spare ribs he’s making is cut off by the arrival of Quentin, face flushed and eyes wide, bursting into Margo’s room without knocking.</p>
<p>“El, good,” he says, a little breathless. “I need you. Something— it’s important, please—”</p>
<p>“How important? I need him for planning,” Margo says sharply.</p>
<p>“<em>Very</em> important.” Eliot is already standing, and Quentin grabs his hand. “Sorry, I’ll have him back to you, uh. Later. Soon. Just— we have to go.” He pulls an unprotesting Eliot out of the room.</p>
<p>“Enjoy your blowjob!” Margo yells sarcastically after them.</p>
<p>They’re in Quentin’s room in about two seconds, Quentin pulling Eliot in and then ducking around him to shut the door. “What’s going on, baby?” Eliot asks. “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Quentin says. He crowds up into Eliot’s space, puts his hands flat on Eliot’s stomach, and grins up at him. “It’s actually— Margo wasn’t, uh, wrong.”</p>
<p>“Mmf,” Eliot says, as Quentin pushes in and kisses him hard, pressing his whole hot little body against him, licking at the seam of his mouth. Eliot parts his lips and lets him in, moans as Quentin’s tongue slides against his own.</p>
<p>Quentin pulls back a little, face hovering just an inch from Eliot’s. “Is that okay?” he asks. He’s already hard in his jeans, Eliot can feel his erection pressing against his thigh. “I know it’s not <em>technically</em> actually important.” Despite his words, he’s already easing Eliot’s shirt up, getting it untucked from his pants so his sturdy fingers can get at Eliot’s bare skin.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eliot purrs. He grabs Quentin’s ass, pulls them even tighter together so he can be sure Quentin can feel him getting hard too. Quentin’s long eyelashes flutter as he gasps. “I can’t think of a single more important thing right now.”</p>
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